


The Devil You Don't

by kulina



Series: The Navy Street Chronicles [5]
Category: Kingdom (TV 2014)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kulina/pseuds/kulina
Summary: Addiction isn't glamorous. Duct tape doesn't repair broken families. Trauma and depression aren't cool. Heroes don't always win.Welcome to the last installment of The Navy Street Chronicles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to serve as a sort of prologue. Just catching yall up before we dive back in.

“So… today’s the day,” Dr. Jameson declared, leaning back in his chair. It squeaked under his weight. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, I guess,” Zoey replied blandly. 

“Who’s picking you up?”

“Nobody.” 

She could feel the doctor’s observant gaze on her, so she picked up her eyes and stared dully into his - a challenge. Something she’d grown familiar with. She used to give in so easily, but not anymore.

“And why’s that?” 

No response.

The doctor clicked the end of his pen several times, and that was a challenge Zoey had grown familiar with as well. A few weeks into her stay, she’d finally snapped at him about his nonstop clicking of the goddamn pen. He’d gotten what he’d wanted - an angry outburst - and quickly she learned her lesson; keep it all under wraps, and things would be better. So she did. She tried to tune out the frustrating sound.

“How does Katie feel about you leaving?”

Her roommate. Her chubby, brunette, bipolar roommate. “Uh, I don’t know.”

“Did you tell her you’re going home?”

“One of the nurses did.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

Zoey almost laughed. “We’re not friends.” 

“She’s a nice girl,” Dr. Jameson said. 

“She’s in the middle of a depressive episode,” Zoey scoffed. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t want anything to do with her, either.”

“Why not?”

“She’s fucking annoying.”

The doctor sighed quietly. “Well.” He sat up and shifted some paperwork around. “We’re giving you both of your prescriptions when you leave. The pills will cover about six weeks, which is when the new set will be mailed to your apartment. That way you won’t have to go pick them up. They’ll come straight to you.” 

Zoey just stared at the nameplate on his desk.

“I’ve already checked to see that your apartment is real and that you are, in fact staying there, and I was pleased to find out that you were being truthful. In addition, there’s a moose standing outside the window.”

“I”m listening,” she grumbled, not taking her eyes from the ‘Gregory Jameson' stamped across the gold.

“Just making sure.” He studied her. “What are you most excited about when you get home?” 

“Not having to see _you_ every day.” 

He laughed good-naturedly. “You’d be surprised how often I get that response.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

His smile didn’t fade. “No, Zoey, I suppose you wouldn’t.” 

He was a kind man; Zoey would give him that much. Good and patient and kind. Before, she would have liked him. She would have adored him, really, and wished he was her father instead of Alvey. But that was before. Things were different now. 

“So, other than not seeing me,” he teased, “what are you most excited about?” 

“Getting to pick what I watch on TV,” she admitted. And it was true. 

“You know it’s a democracy in the TV room,” Dr. Jameson reminded. “I see you give up your right to vote every time I walk by.”

“There’s never anything on that I want to see. Besides, we always wind up watching whatever Anthony wants, anyway.” 

Dr. Jameson laughed at the mention of the nurse. “Our Anthony can be very persuasive. I’ll give you that one.” He clicked the pen two more times, and Zoey clenched her fists in her lap where he wouldn’t be able to see. Her nails bit into her skin, grounding her.

“Many people often say they’re looking forward to the food from outside. Are you?” 

She didn’t respond. She was, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of finding something he could snatch away from her. 

“Zoey,” he said softly. “Are you sure you’re ready to go home?”

“It’s been more than a year - almost a year and a half now. I want to get the fuck out of here.”

“That’s fair,” he sighed. “I’m sure I’d want to leave, too.”

The intercom on the desk buzzed. Dr. Jameson glanced at Zoey’s empty expression before he pressed the button. “Jameson,” he said.

“Hi, Doctor. There’s a cab here for Zoey Kulina.” 

“Thanks, Maureen. I’ll send her down in just a minute.”

The line went dead, but Zoey didn’t move. 

“You have our number if you need anything,” Dr. Jameson reminded. “The door is always open, alright? If you have any questions or want more referrals or just need to talk, we’re here.” 

Zoey nodded. 

“Now, I know you’re dying to get out of here, so I won’t keep you any longer. I-”

She hopped out of her chair and headed for the door without waiting to hear the rest of his sentence.

As the door swung shut behind her, the doctor shook his head. He glanced up at the ceiling and hoped that his most challenging patient in recent memory would be alright on her own.

 

* * *

Zoey didn’t bother to put her small bag in the taxi’s trunk; she just dumped it on the seat beside her. There wasn’t really anything in it, anyway. She clenched a scrap of paper with an address on it tightly between her fists until it was time to pass it to the driver. He handed it back after a moment, and they were off. 

As Zoey stared out the window, she realized she’d forgotten just how quickly cars could go. It had been so long since she’d ridden in one. She watched the palm trees whip by, and she thought of Jay. She wondered if he still had that beat-up pickup that he used to call Mary Jane when they were younger. She wondered whether he was still with his girlfriend and where they were living. It hadn’t come up at the birthday party, and Zoey hadn’t been curious enough to call and ask after it was over. 

The birthday party… 

Zoey blinked, trying to clear the memories of January from her mind. _Deep breaths_ , she reminded herself. She slowly took ten breaths, taking a moment to hold the air in her lungs before she let it out. She forced herself to focus on the radio, counting each word in the song. Soon, that consumed her every thought, and Jay’s surprise party was long forgotten. 

By the time half an hour had passed, Zoey dozed off against the window The driver woke her up when they reached Bob’s house. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and opened the car door. 

“There she is!” came an excited voice. “Zee!”

She’d know that accent anywhere. “Hey,” she said quietly as she climbed out of the car. 

Will hurried over to take her bag, and she let him hug her even though she didn’t hug back. “How are you doing?” he asked brightly. 

“Um, I’m good,” she muttered. She glanced behind him, and his face fell a little, not that Zoey noticed. 

“Oh. That’s… good.”

“Where’s my car?” 

“I’ll show you,” he said. “Here.” He led her to a side garage and opened the door so she could see the silver Mercedes.

She’d called Will on the third day she’d been at the Pacific Grove Hospital and asked him to retrieve it for her. She didn’t want to leave a Benz abandoned in Venice. It would certainly have disappeared if she let it sit there for a few more days. 

“Do you want to come in?” he asked as he passed her the keys. “Have a drink?”

"No thanks."

"Bob's not here..."

She took a moment, pretending to think it over. “Um… maybe another time.” 

“Oh,” he said, feeling even more dejected and now a little worried. “Zee… are you sure you're alright?” 

She let out a sarcastic laugh. “I’m fine. Thanks for keeping the car for me.” She unlocked it and climbed inside, and Will watched nervously as she got situated inside.

“Are- are you sure you’re well enough to drive?”

“I had a mental breakdown, Will,” she snorted, “not a fucking stroke. I’m fine.” 

“I just mean you look a little tired-”

She slammed the door shut. 

It felt odd driving, but after only a few moments, everything came back to her. It was like riding a bike. She made her way down the familiar Santa Monica streets and down to the apartment she’d had Will get for her while she was in treatment. It was just as pretty as the pictures.

She parked in her single-car garage and got out, going in through the kitchen. She glanced briefly around and then dropped her keys on the counter. She was lucky; Will had gotten someone to make up her bed for her and put some clothes in the closet, which meant she was able to change out of her hospital clothes and into shorts and a tank top. She climbed into the unfamiliar bed and laid there. 

All this time, she’d been planning to kill herself as soon as she got out - not that she told anyone that, of course - but now that she was free, she was feeling kind of invincible. She could do whatever the hell she wanted whenever the hell she wanted, and no one could stop her. 

She wouldn’t have points docked if she skipped a meal (or ate too much ice cream). She wouldn’t get a level taken away if she cut herself with a plastic knife. She wouldn’t be forced to go to bed early if she hit someone. Which had happened more than once. 

Will had promised that her arrangement with Bob would still be available if she wanted, which she wasn’t sure she did after what happened the week she… But she said yes, she still wanted the job. She needed the money, and she missed feeling like she was worth something, even if her worth was only on the outside. She missed feeling pretty. Most of all, she missed feeling wanted.

 

* * *

 

Nate was almost done getting groceries at Ralph’s when he thought he spotted Christina. 

“Mom?” he called, but the woman didn't hear him, and she turned the corner. He went back to staring at the cereals. If it was her, he didn’t really want to talk to her anyway. 

He glanced at the Cheerios and then turned away, trying not to feel the pang of guilt at the thought of Zoey being alone and so far from home while she tried to cope with everything that had happened to her. He could feel that she’d been down lately, but she’d asked - demanded, rather - that none of the family contact her while she was in treatment. It had been hard, but she’d been hard to talk to more often than not lately anyway, so he’d given up trying. 

Luckily, things had been busy with Jay and Amy at the house, which kept his focus elsewhere. With Maya so fussy these past few days, it had been hard to think about his sister, and honestly, forgetting her had been good. He was tired of agonizing over something he had no control over. Zoey was her own person, just like Tami kept reminding him. Nate couldn’t “fix” her. She had to work on herself, and that’s exactly what she was at Pacific Grove to do. When she came back, she would be better. She would be herself again. Nate was counting on that much.

He finally grabbed an oversized box of off-brand Raisin Bran and dropped it into the cart. He wheeled to the checkout, and he ran through the self-check. The installation of those things made Nate genuinely feel happy. He dreaded grocery shopping so much less now that he knew he wouldn’t have to interact with people or let someone see exactly what he was purchasing. Made it easier to buy lube without feeling weird. (That was only once, and it had been an emergency. Usually, Will ordered all of that stuff for them online, but they’d run out, and Will had been stuck at work. Nate had been absolutely mortified not only selecting some from the shelf but especially taking it through the line. That marked the first time in years that Nate had seriously considered stealing something.)

He paid and headed out with a nod to the guy supervising the check-out, and then he went out into the sunshine to locate his car. As he was walking, he could have sworn he saw the Christina lady again - except this time, he realized it wasn’t Christina he was looking at. It was _Zoey._

“Zebra?” he called, but her windows were up, and she had sunglasses on, so he couldn’t be 100% sure it was her. The girl was in a sparkling silver Mercedes, which didn’t make sense. But the closer she got…

He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his sister, but goddamn him if he wouldn’t know that girl anywhere. She drove past him, and suddenly Nate was stuffing the groceries into his car as fast as he could, leaving the cart in the middle of the parking space next to his (one of his pet peeves), and peeling out of the parking lot to try to locate her. 

Of course, even after several minutes, the silver Mercedes was nowhere to be found. 

* * *

 

Obliviously, Zoey returned from Ralph’s to the new apartment and stocked everything carelessly into her cupboards - except for the Oreos, which she took with her to the single bedroom. Then she headed back out, this time to the library. 

One of the older librarians squeaked an excited hello to her - it had been quite a while since Zoey had set foot in the building - but Zoey barely gave a wave as she headed to the computers. A bit of research let her know that the best thing for her at the moment was what was called a Pay As You Go phone, or just a “Go Phone” since she wasn’t planning to contact anyone but Will and Bob. The stock photo of the phone looked a lot like the kind Ryan used to have. Zoey wondered if he’d upgraded to something real yet. Probably not.

Her next stop (after stopping by the YA section and picking out some new novels and then renewing her library card) was Walmart for the phone, a few pairs of underwear and some sports bras, several of those jelly bracelets she liked, deodorant, a hairbrush, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, hand soap, and some t-shirts. She’d get her shorts online since the Walmart ones were too cheap and made the insides of her thighs itch. And if she went to the toy aisle and picked out a stuffed dog, no one had to know. 

She waited her turn for the self-checkout so that she wouldn’t be forced to speak to anyone, and she paid with the credit card that had spent the last year tucked away in the glove compartment. She wondered if Will had even noticed that her wallet was there when he took the car. She didn’t care enough to guess. 

When she got back to the apartment again, she didn't bother to unpack anything, just dropped the bags on her carpet. She didn’t have the energy to set everything up right away. She could get each item out as she needed it. That made her wonder what the laundry situation in this place was (she couldn’t remember what Will had told her a few weeks previously), but she didn’t feel up to poking around and finding out. She programmed Will’s number into her phone, picked a cheesy ringtone, and then texted him to ask for Bob’s number. 

_He’d love to see you,_ Will texted back. _I told him you’re back in LA._

**Z** : _Where does he think I went?_

**W** : _School._

Zoey raised her eyebrows. She didn’t know it would have been believable to Bob that she had decided to get a degree, though she supposed that she was the right age. Maybe he thought she was in community college or something.

But then Will added, _I told him you went to UC Berkeley._

Zoey blinked in surprise. _And he believed you?_

**W** : _Of course._

In the past, Zoey would have smiled, but there was no smiling anymore. Smiles meant happiness, which meant she had something to lose, that there was something that could be yanked from her grasp and twisted up and stomped on. She wouldn't let anyone believe that. Not anymore. The stone wall that she built around herself grew thicker by the day.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sir. Sir, wake up.”

A police radio chattered, and helicopter blades whirred overhead.

“Sir, hello? Sir, I need you to wake up. Sir!” Seagulls cried overhead as an officer drove his foot into Alvey’s calf. “Wake the fuck up!”

“Hey!” Alvey shouted, his fists immediately up. He was met with the sight of two police offers in the the blinding morning sun.

One of the guys asked smugly, “Sir, how you doing this morning? What's your name?”

Alvey dazedly looked around. A loud horn honked in distance, and not too far away from where he was lying in the sand, children were shouting playfully.

“Sir, do you have a driver's license? Identification?”

“Kulina,” Alvey muttered as he started to sit up. As he moved, he realized he was still wearing his suit from the night before. Fuck.

“Sir, we need to see a driver's license.”

“Yeah,” Alvey groaned. He got to his feet, his jacket dangling carelessly at his side. “You guys can fucking tone it down a bit, you know?”

“Gun! Gun! He’s got a gun!”

All of a sudden, Alvey was shoved down, his face inches from the sand. One of the men yanked his arm behind his back.

“Get the fuck on the ground!  Do not fucking move!”

“I have the right - I got a-”

“Do not fucking move!”

“I got a fucking permit for the gun! Alvey Kulina.”

“Shut up,” the officer spat.

“I fucking train you guys. Look in my wallet.”

“Do not speak unless I ask you to.”

“I train you guys,” he repeated.

“Shut up!”

“Lieutenant Steve Valdez will vouch for me.”

At the mention of the man in charge, the mood shifted.

“Jesus,” Alvey complained, “you’re breaking my fucking arm. Jesus Christ. You're fucking breaking my arm, yo.”

Through the static, Alvey could hear a woman on the radio on one of the cops’ shoulders calmly reporting, “Any available units in the 400 block of Venice Boulevard, please respond to shots fired outside the bar. Victim is white male, early twenties…”

“Nope, no problem. Thank you very much.” He turned away from the phone. “He’s good. Get him up.” Just before he hung up, he said, “Thank you, sir.”

Alvey groaned again. “You guys are fucking rough.”

“Sir, in the future, we can't have you sleeping on the beach, alright?”

Alvey nodded. “Sorry about the gun. I know it's dangerous.”

“It's alright.”

“Why don't you guys come down to the gym? I'll give you a give you some training for free, yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations,” the other cop said, handing Alvey the plaque that had been buried upside down in the sand.  _SoCal MMA Coach of the Year,_  it read.  _Alvey Kulina, Navy Street MMA 2017._

Alvey smiled awkwardly.

“Feel better.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.” He bent down to pick up the massive, empty glass bottle he’d fallen asleep next to. “Hey, have a good day, alright?”

“Have a good one, sir.”  The officers shook their heads at each other as Alvey stumbled off toward the boardwalk.

 

* * *

 

The only sound Nate could hear - the only sound he’d been hearing for the last fucking  _hour -_ was that of his little niece screaming.

“Hey,” Nate begged from across the room. He’d put the disgruntled baby in her playpen as he finished packing up for the press conference, but he was finally done. “Hey.” He walked over to her, which got her attention, but it didn’t stop her from crying. “You want this?” he asked, slipping her purple pacifier out of his pocket and offering it to her.

She completely ignored it.

He sighed. “Alright.” He reached in and picked her up, settling her against his ribs. “You want this?” he cooed again, trying to pop the pacifier into her mouth.

She swatted at him, which got him to crack a smile.

“No? Okay.”

Still, once she realized Nate had picked her up and wasn’t going to put her down, her cries subsided. She leaned her temple against his cheek, and he affectionately bounced her a little on his hip. “There you go,” he soothed. “There, it’s okay. Alright…”

Every so often, she would still let out the beginnings of a wailing sound, but she was mostly calm.

“Okay, I got you… It’s alright.”

He blew out a slow breath and stared out the window, willing someone to come home soon.

 

* * *

 

The Casualties blared unforgivingly through Jay’s speakers as he sped down South Sentinel Avenue. His tires yelped as he made a sharp right turn onto Culver Boulevard, and at the sight of a man and a woman standing on the sidewalk, he slowed to a stop.

“It is rough out there,” Jay declared as he hurried out of his car. He stuck out his hand to the man. “Russell.”

“That's right.”

He looked to the woman. “Lindsay. I’m Jay Kulina. So sorry I'm late; I was way the hell out in Whittier. Hope you guys weren't here too long.”

“Half an hour,” the man noted.

Jay winced. “I really do apologize, but the market is - it's white-hot right now, as I'm sure you know. I’m getting drawn and quartered like a French heretic. Not that I'm complaining. And neither should you guys.” Jay held his arms out in front of the house. “Look at this, huh?”

“Jay, this isn't what we talked about.”

“Well, I think a lot of times in real estate, it's about managing expectations. Now, this is the first time this house has been shown. This is the first showing. So, if you like it, we should write up an offer today.”

“It's kind of a dump,” the man protested, not moving from his spot on the sidewalk.

“Well…” Jay thought quickly. “Or - it's the  _worst_  house on the  _best_  street. And that's real estate. That's what the pros are really after. You know, suckers - only suckers buy turnkey. And you're no sucker.”

The husband and wife traded a glance.

“Come on. Let's take a peek.”

Lindsay led the way into the house, but she quickly stopped in the entry.

Jay wiggled past her with an awkward chuckle. “Oh, my apologies. Um… Whew. Uh, the tenants were not supposed to be here. And, uh, I'm definitely…” He blew an angry breath through his nostrils and clenched his fists. “…gonna straighten this out. Here, why don't you take a look at the kitchen? And remember, this is about good bones, right? This is cosmetic, just a paint-and-vacuum… sort of.”

He quickly disappeared around the corner to the back bedroom, where there was loud music playing. Jay knocked twice, but there was no response. He tried to shove his emotions down into his gut before he flung the door open.

“Oh!” cried a naked woman. She quickly pulled off of the man whose dick she was riding and yanked the covers up over her chest.

“Who the fuck are you?!” the man demanded.

“Good morning, uh… Andy? Jay Kulina, Cornwell Properties,” he said, dropping a business card from his inside jacket pocket onto the nightstand. He made a point to stare at the wall and not the naked bodies beside him. “We spoke earlier this morning.”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” the man replied incredulously.

“This is not your house. You are a tenant,” Jay corrected in a growl, “and per your lease agreement, you are supposed to vacate when we are showing the house.”

“I don't give a shit.”

“Furthermore, you are to leave the house in an orderly manner on days that we are showing the property.”

“What are you gonna do about it, huh? This is California, dickhead. Renters got rights. You can't do shit. Or am I, uh, wrong about that?”

“No. No… No, you have rights.”

“Well, then, quit violating them and get the fuck out.”

Jay just stood there.

“Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out of my house!”

Jay turned on his heel and stalked out. He sighed heavily as he reached the kitchen. “They go?” he asked a guy he found leaning against the counter with a bowl of chocolate cereal.

He shrugged and walked out of the room.

Jay lit up a cigarette and listened to the moans starting back up in the room over. “Fuck,” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

“It's a job like any other, man,” Ryan mused to a wall of camera flashes. “I'm just here to work a shift - punch in, whip his ass, punch out, go home, have a beer, get a good night's sleep. All in a day's work.”

The reporters all shouted questions, but Ryan was able to pick one out.

“No malice, just, uh. You know, Anderson's a good dude. He's just gonna have a very, very bad night, but it's, uh, it's not about hate. That's not my nature. People in my life will tell you I'm - I’m - I'm the nicest guy in the world. I believe in a - in a kind and merciful God, and I believe that if you operate from a place of love, good things will happen.

“Yeah, it's been a great year. Four in a row, nothing past the second round… Um, but it is it is my last fight with King Beast Promotions. Contract's up. I feel like I've been a good soldier. I've built the brand. I'm getting paid like a fucking migrant,” he chuckled, “but that's fine.

“Uh, well, I mean, every fighter wants to fight in the UFC. I’d definitely love another shot at that, um-”

“Jesus Christ. Bite the hand that feeds you,” Garo complained quietly.

“He's frustrated, and so am I,” Lisa said as she led Garo around a corner and away from Ryan’s interview.

“What can I do?”

“Make him an offer.”

“I'll make him a verbal offer.”

“Write it down.”

Garo chuckled cynically. “So you can shop it.”

“Mm,” she shrugged.

“Has the UFC made an offer?”

Lisa smirked. “We're talking.”

“But there's no offer. And I know for a fact the UFC will not make an offer unless he wins tonight, so you have no leverage.”

“Okay,” she replied airily. “Well, you can bid with everyone else after the fight, including the UFC.”  
  
“Lisa.”

“Hmm?”

“You trust me?”

“Sure.”  _No._

“Okay." Garo dropped his voice. "I've been approached by some people from Dubai. And I mean, I'm talking about oil money. And they want to take King Beast, and they want to turn it into a major promotion.

“Good luck with that,” Lisa replied flatly.

“Of course," he scoffed. "Of course you shit all over it.”

“Garo, the UFC will swallow it up. Promotions come and go.”

The door banged open. “Garo, there's no one onstage.”

“Okay, give me a-” he said, motioning the man away. He turned quickly back to Lisa. “Okay, listen to me. These guys are real, okay? And they love the sport, and they have money, and they have a plan, and I want Ryan to be a part of it. Just promise me - just don't do anything with the UFC until you let me make my pitch.”

“When?”

“Monday. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

“Monday?” Ryan echoed in disappointment. His time in front of the press was over, and they were headed back to his car.

“Okay, I know. I know. Don't go dark on me, alright? Just come by later, and we'll talk.” Her cell phone started ringing. “Bring your food,” she told him, turning back toward the hotel's awning. “I’ll - I'll cook.”

“Really?” he asked, but she was already gone.

“How you feeling, big guy?” Lisa asked.

“Holy shit,” Alvey sighed over the line. “What the fuck happened last night?”

“You won Coach of the Year.”

“Yeah. How was my speech?”

“Uh, to quote you, you were ‘Winston fucking Churchill up there.’”

“I got to apologize to anybody?”

“No,” she said, an amused smile dancing on her lips. “You’re good.”

He groaned. “What time did you leave?”

“Around one o’clock. What's up?”

“What's up?” he echoed, partly confused at her question, partly offended that she didn’t want to talk to him. “I’m just checking in. Did Ryan do okay?”

“Yeah. They love him.”

“'They love him'? Fucking Garo's got to pay the man.”

“I know. I'm working on it. Uh, he said that he was gonna come by and see you later.

“No! No, no, no, no. Pass, whatever it is.”

“Uh, I got to find Nate. He’s - he's up soon.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Alvey called quickly before she could hang up.

“What?”

“...was I a pig?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Not to me, you weren’t. Bye.”

The line went dead.

Alvey moaned. “Oh, fuck me.”

 

* * *

 

“No, the breakdown said, ‘Trust-fund, sex-pot, Burning Man neophyte.’” Amy sighed into the phone. “What? I don't know.”

She paused.

“Early twenties, which I'm not, obviously. M-Maybe we should just use the one where my hair is back.” She shut off the engine and sighed. “Yeah. I'll get new pictures… Okay. Well, let me know if you hear anything. Okay. Bye.”

As soon as she opened the front door, Nate rushed toward her with Maya in his arms and his gym bag hanging over his shoulder.. “Hey…”

“Aww, what’s the matter, sweetheart?” Amy asked the baby.

“She cried the whole time,” Nate said regretfully.

“Really? Oh.”

“I checked her diaper,” he said with a shrug.

“I'm sorry. Thank you.”

“It's all good. How was the audition?”

“Really good,” she lied, trying to force some brightness into her tone. “Yogurt. It was fun. Um, did she eat anything?”  
  
“I gave her a bottle, yeah.” He looked Amy over. It was plain to see that she looked exhausted. “You all good?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “Go.”

“Alright.” Nate leaned in to kiss Amy on the cheek.

“Thank you again. Say, ‘Bye!’” Amy said to her daughter.

“Byyye, Maya,” Nate whispered, and Amy watched as a rare, sweet smile graced his features while he rushed out the door. “Bye!”

 

* * *

 

“Bowl of ice and a towel, please,” Alvey barked at Shelby when he walked into the gym. His sunglasses were still on his face, and even the sound of his keys jingling was driving him crazy. He caught sight of his most respected coach and ordered, “Juan, glove up. Thirty minutes.”

The man nodded.

Alvey shut himself in his office and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk for the bottle of Tequila he kept tucked away there. Then he slid open the middle drawer, the one he never used, and looked down at the upside down picture frame. After a moment of staring at it, he reached in and flipped it over.

Zoey’s sixth grade school picture sat behind the glass. Jay had insisted that Alvey buy them that year so Jay could have one. Yearbook photos turned out to be something Alvey wished Jay had forced upon him more often, honestly.

Zoey’s wild waves were just as unmanageable as ever in the old photo. She had a gray Navy Street t-shirt on, and she was smiling happily for the camera. The light in her eyes was still there. Alvey supposed that was because the rumors hadn’t started yet.

Alvey stared down at the picture and took another swig of tequila. “Fuckin’ Zo,” he muttered. The glass over her cheeks was smudged with fingerprints, so what was one more? Alvey ran his fingers across again, but he almost dropped the glass when there was a curt knock at the door.

He hurried to shove the picture back in the drawer, and he dropped the half-capped alcohol in with it before he slammed it shut. “Yeah,” he called. “Come in.”

Shelby pointed at the plaque he’d put up on his desk. “Congrats on your award.”  
  
He nodded. “Yeah, thank you.” Then he promptly dunked his face in the massive bowl of ice water.

“Um, can I get you some Pedialyte?” Shelby asked while he was still under.

He held up a finger for the several seconds that he remained submerged. He finally came back up, water cascading down his face. Then, “Fruit punch,” he said. As she started to leave he called after her, “Actually, anything but grape.”

Shelby nodded and was halfway out the door when all of a sudden, Alvey couldn’t help but ask a question. “Shelby, how you feeling?”

“Great,” she smiled, looking more than a little surprised that Alvey was checking in on her well-being.

“Yeah?” he asked, glad to hear her reply. At least someone in LA was happy.

“Yeah. He's kicking around a lot.”

“That's a good sign.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need anything else?”

Alvey snapped back to attention. “No. No.”

“Okay.”

“Don't work too hard, alright?”

She grinned. “I never do.”

Alvey let out a tired laugh. “No. I mean it. I mean - you know, if you need some time off, you just let me know, okay? It's paid. Alright?”

He’d never seen her look so curious - or so grateful. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

He thought about Lisa and the baby, and he thought about Maya, and most of all, he thought about the old picture of Zoey in the drawer. He pulled the picture back out of hiding and set it on his desk. He wasn’t going to get shit done today anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Russell, this is Jay Kulina calling, trying you again. I think I have another property that you will love. Uh, actually, scratch that. I  _know_  you're gonna love it. Why? We've got new construction. Well, look at this. We have the en suite in the master that your wife, um, Lindsay, wanted so much. Anyway, give me a call, and I can show it today. Um, and I just want to apologize about this morning. I was mortified, frankly. I was appalled.”

Jay glanced out the corner of his eye, where he saw his boss approaching. He forced some extra sunshine into his voice. “Um, so, give me a call at the office or on my cell.” The receiver clicked as Jay set it down. “Dan, sir, how you doing?”

“Good.”

“I just got to say, right off the bat, you look like a goddamn pit boss in that suit.”

“That's great.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so, uh, what what happened at Culver?”

“Excuse me?

“You - sorry. You were just apologizing on the phone. So, what happened at Culver?”

“Oh. Nothing. The, uh - the tenants were there, and, um, the place was a little messy."

“Oh. Dude. You can't show a place with the tenants there. You-”

“I totally agree, and and I wasn’t-”

“Then why did you fucking show it?”

“I had spoken to the tenants-”

“Mm-hmm.”

“-multiple times, and they assured me that they weren't gonna be in the home.”

“But they were.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

“Jay, you never,  _never_ walk into a property with a client if you don't know what's on the other side of that door, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. What time was the showing?”

“Nine a.m.”

“Nine a.m. Uh-huh. Um, what time did you get there?

“About nine.”

“About-” He laughed, like Jay had made a joke. But then his face fell as he watched Jay’s confusion. “For real- you - you really got there about - dude, no. If the showing's at 9:00, you get there at 8:30.”

“Right.”

“That way, you can enter the property and make sure that everything looks good, it's nice and tidy, there's no tenant fucking jerking off on the couch. That's common sense, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right? I mean, it's just it's a little foresight, that's all.”

“I completely understand… what you're saying.”

“Good.”

“And I'll be doing that moving forward.”

“Good.”

“Alright.”

“We need to eliminate unforced errors. Attention to detail. I need you to dial it in, man, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“Awesome.”

Jay sighed and crashed down into his chair. Fuck.

 

* * *

 

“Uh, you know, he's a tough kid, heavy hands, um, definitely, uh, dangerous,” Nate babbled to the cameras. “Uh, but I'm up for the challenge.”

“‘Pretty boy’?” he repeated, trying not to cringe. “Really? He said that?” He snorted as there was a collective nod. “Okay…” He forced a smile. “I mean, am I pretty? I don't - I don't know.”

The reporters all laughed, so at least that was good.

“I like to think of myself more as a as a handsome man, I think,” he added, growing a little more confident. He felt reassured just knowing that Will was watching the live stream from his desk. “Um, but I'll take it as a compliment.” He smirked before he could stop himself. “I think we should ask him again after the fight, though. See what he says then.”

Camera shutters clicked loudly as Nate continued.

“Uh, my dad's one of the best coaches in in the game. Um, and, you know, we got a lot of killers at the gym. Um, and then, you know, as far as Jay goes, I'd love to see him fight again. I think I think everybody would. He's one of the most exciting fighters out there, I think, but I might be biased. Um, but there are bigger things than fighting. And, you know, right now he's doing what he's got to do, and I support him either way.”

He glanced out at the sea. There were a few more hands up, but Nate had talked plenty, and he was ready to go grab a big lunch.

“Okay? Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Zoey blew a breath up to force her hair back from her face. She’d caught herself up on the message boards and seen that not only did Nate have an amazing record this year but also had a fight coming up that weekend.

Ryan was also killing it - he was undefeated. And Sky, who it appeared had fought in a handful of fights, had only lost once. No mention of Jay in the cage.

Zoey shut the laptop and lifted her phone off the bedspread. She dialed a number and waited. It went to voicemail after a moment, and immediately after the beep, she put on a fake smile and chirped, “Hi! This is Christina. I’m back in town now and just wanted to let you know my schedule is basically free. This is my new number, so you can call me or text me whenever. Alright. Bye!”

 

* * *

 

“How'd your audition go?”

“Ugh. It was humiliating. I was 10 years older than everyone.”

Jay sighed. “Well, just…” He took a deep breath. “You don't need that. I mean, why would you do something that doesn't make you happy, you know?”

“Because we could use the money,” she said, her tone hinting at the fact that the answer should have been obvious.

“Oh, I think maybe you should let this caveman venture out into the world and hunt, provide for this family like the good will of God intended.” Jay reached forward and gave Maya a little poke in the stomach. 

"Alright, well, when Daddy sells houses, then we can talk about that."

"That's not a very nice thing to say."

Amy laughed. "Well, you got to toughen up!"

"Oh, yeah? Okay."

"Yeah. You got a daughter watching you now, Kulina."

"Mm-hmm."

 

* * *

 

 

Alvey couldn’t catch his breath as he heaved a seemingly endless stream of vomit into the sink in the men’s locker room. 

“There he is, the King Kulina!” Garo crowed, ignoring what was taking place. “Fresh as a spring lamb.”

“Not now!” Alvey groaned, but Garo had already taken a seat on one of the benches.

“That's it. Let it out,” he soothed. “No more poison.” 

Alvey rolled his eyes as he sank to his knees.

When the vomiting finally stopped, Garo asked, “Feel better?” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Kudos on the award last night. Coach of the Year - not too shabby.” Garo looked over at his sweaty and panting form in a heap on the ground. “You seem down.”

Alvey spat into the sink. “I’m not down.”

“Well, you're not up.”

“About what? The fucking award, winning a trophy? That's all bullshit. Doesn't mean anything.”

“Everything's all bullshit. Nothing means anything. But it's still nice to win a trophy, huh? Why? It feels empty? You know want to know what's better than winning a trophy?”

“A blowjob,” Alvey deadpanned.

“A _belt_.” When Alvey didn’t immediately respond, Garo explained, “I'm offering you a fight.”

Alvey scoffed. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I want to do a legends fight,” Garo elaborated excitedly.

“'Legends'? You want me to do a legen- two old guys fucking slapping each other around for three rounds? That's a legends fight. No fucking thank you. No thank you.”

“I don't think you're that old,” Garo protested.

“Well, I ain't young.”

“I got money,” he singsonged.

Alvey let out a laugh then. “You got fucking money like I got money.”

Garo leaned forward. “Arabs,” he said softly.

“Arabs?” That had Alvey’s attention. He stood up and started unwrapping the tape from his hands.

“Arabs,” Garo nodded.

“How much?”

“Well, I would never tell you that, but once everything is done, we're gonna do a big launch, and the kids need to see who put this sport on the map.” He pointed at Alvey. “I know you have another fight in you, Alvey. I can smell it in your loins.”

Alvey didn’t respond to Garo's bait. He sighed and said, “Get out of here. I gotta take a shower.”

“You have to take a shower? Can I wash your hair, please?” Garo asked, his eyes alight.

Alvey laughed again.

“Please?”

“You're so gay,” Alvey grinned.

“I'm not gay. I'm just fluid.”

“Get out. Get out.”

“Alright. But, for real, think about what I said, because I know you got another fight in you. I know you do."

“Yeah,” Alvey muttered sarcastically.

“Alvey Kulina, one more time! Bap bap! Bap! Bap! Ladies and gentlemen, he's back! The legend! Whoo!”

 

* * *

 

 

“How'd it go out there?” Ryan asked as Keith came in from the treadmill.

“Very good,” he panted back. He watched Ryan move around the kitchen. “Are you taking your food somewhere?”

“Yep. I'm meeting with Lisa tonight. Business.”

“Yeah, but your food is here, so why doesn't she just come over?”

“Because we're talking business, Keith.” Ryan slapped him on the back. “You got the place to yourself tonight. Enjoy the quiet.”

“I'm sick of the quiet,” Keith huffed. He groaned as he plopped down on the couch.  “Good god. Look at this.”

Ryan glanced disapprovingly over at the laptop screen. “Stop looking at that fucking website, man.”

“What these people are doing to me is a war crime. They give out our exact address. It just sucks, cause people hate sex offenders, and now they have my location. It's like I'm a fish in a barrel.”

“Hey. I _promise you_ , nobody looks at this shit, okay?” 

“Vigilantes do,” Keith replied under his breath.

“Keith,” Ryan said sharply. He reached over and slammed the laptop closed. “Don't be fucking paranoid, man. You're making yourself crazy. Will you just relax?” Ryan pushed Keith backwards onto the couch. “Try to relax.” He shoved a Gatorade into Keith’s hand.

“Alright,” Keith exhaled.

Ryan picked up his bag and headed toward the door. “I’m home early, okay?” Before Keith could respond, he disappeared.

As soon as he heard Ryan's car start, Keith sat up and reopened the computer. “Oh,” he groused as his mug shot popped back up. “Oh my god.”

 

* * *

 

“There she is!” Bob crowed as Zoey walked through his front door. Will watched with a grimace as Bob grabbed Zoey’s ass with one hand as he pulled her into an embrace with the other. 

She’d managed to wiggle into the too-tight mermaid gown Bob had chosen for the evening, and she had on red lipstick and a dazzling smile to go with it. She laughed at all his stupid jokes and was a little wilder than she’d been with him before.

“College was good for you,” Bob decided an hour later, smiling at her. “I’m not sure about the tattoos, but I love this new personality you’ve got. You’re like a wildcat.” He reached up to brush some of her hair away from her face, and, without thinking, Zoey leaned over to kiss Bob’s cheek. He practically glowed.

 

* * *

 

“He's supposed to register as a sex offender,” Ryan explained. He pushed his food around with his fork.

Lisa nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“He didn’t. They put him on house arrest. And I kept fucking reminding him! He’s fucking lazy.”

“Okay, but it's not like rape,” Lisa pointed out. “It's with fruit, right? Doesn't matter.”

Ryan gave her a look. “Se- sex offender, you got to register.”

Lisa smiled. “Poor Keith.”

“Poor Keith?” Ryan echoed in disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“Poor fucking fruit,” Ryan muttered. They both laughed. As it died down, he noted, “I gotta start looking for my own place.”

“No - Ryan, you can’t!”

“Why?”

“He'll kill himself.”

Ryan took a long swig of his gallon jug of water. “I don't want to live with a sex offender.”

She sighed. “He’s your friend.”

“Okay. That's not fair, okay?”

“Why?” 

“Am I supposed to have this guy with me for the rest of my life? I can't do that, Lisa.”

“Mm.”

“And, you know, a-at some point, he's a fucking grown man.”

“You're right. You're right. You've done a lot for him. You've lasted a fuck of a lot longer than I would have.”

“Anyway I should be able to afford something… _nice_ with all this money that you're gonna get me.”

She chuckled and took a sip of her coffee. “I’m working on it.”

He tried not to sound interested as he asked, “Anything from UFC?” 

“They want to wait until after tomorrow night.”

“What about Garo? Garo says he's got money.”

“Yeah. We'll see if that's real,” Lisa replied, rolling her eyes.

“If I lose, it's gonna be a lot less money,” Ryan added, almost angrily. “It's gonna be another shit contract.”

“And if you _win_ ,” Lisa countered, “it will be a lot more, and that I can shop with the UFC.”

“If I _do_ lose, then there's gonna be no leverage.”

“Ryan, will you fucking bet on yourself? If I had any doubt, I would close this deal tonight. I promise you. You're gonna win.”

He dragged his hands down his face. “I hate this shit,” he exhaled. “God.”

“I know it.” She looked him over. “Go home. Get some sleep.”

Ryan nodded and picked up his plate, about to take it to the sink.

Lisa raised her eyebrows, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You're acting like you suddenly have fucking manners?”

Ryan grinned and threw the plate down, making everything on the table clatter.

“There he is,” Lisa smiled.

“Clean that shit,” he ordered.

“There you go.”

“Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

 

* * *

 

“I have something for you,” Bob murmured into Zoey’s ear as the last of his guests trickled out. He curled his arm behind her waist and led her down a hallway. “Will let me know that you were unhappy with the Mexican valium, so we’re going to skip it this time if that’s alright with you.”

Was that the drug he'd given her last time? Zoey may not have been exactly sure what Mexican Valium was, but she did know that she definitely didn’t want any.

“I’ll be providing you with an extra five thousand for the night because of this,” Bob explained, nodding at the door. He opened it and let Zoey look inside, and then he asked, “Does that seem fair?”

“I want seven," she replied evenly.

Bob laughed in disbelief, echoing, “Seven thousand?” 

She nodded.

He looked displeased. “No way. Fifty-five?”

“Seven.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Six.”

“Sixty-five.”

“You’re sexy when you argue with me,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, sixty-five. Fuck. Sixty-five. Now get your pretty ass in there. You better make this worth it for me.”

She obliged, gliding into the dark room where a man lounged on the bed. He was older than her and took his time watching her with half-lidded eyes. She wondered if Bob had slipped him something as well. The guy crawled forward and ran his fingers down the front of her dress. She unzipped it and stepped out of it, not in the mood to be sexy, just wanting to get this over with.  She unclasped her bra, slid her thong off, and climbed onto the bed with the man. He kissed her jaw, messy and wet, and Zoey watched Bob with dark, unmoving eyes as he leaned against the dresser and sipped his drink. 

The guy’s fingers dragged down Zoey’s chest, from the space between her small breasts down to her belly button and into the folds between her legs. She didn’t jump, just said quietly, “I’m not fucking him without a condom.” 

“Christina, baby-”

“I’m _not_.”  
  
The guy didn’t even seem to hear her. He kept his mouth sloppily moving against her skin like he’d done this countless times with a million faceless girls. Zoey supposed he probably had.

Bob reached into a drawer and tossed her a purple condom. She didn’t look at it, just tore it open and fit it on the guy’s erection like it was nothing. God, it was like riding a bike. 

A few minutes later, Zoey was on her back, and the guy was over her, his dick inside her. She kissed him, needing to do something with her mouth while she was feeling him inside of her. He was big, but not big enough to be uncomfortable. And he was cute… he might have been her type, but the only one she'd been thinking of all this time, the only one she really wanted was Adam, sweet Adam who looked and sounded and tasted like he was made out of sunbeams, who smiled so blindingly that it made her stomach twist…

Zoey closed her eyes and focused on the body over her. She drew her knees up around his hips and made a keening sound, one she knew would get Bob whatever it was that he wanted, but soon what she was pretending to feel became real. She hadn’t felt the desire to masturbate at the hospital, even in the shower, so this was foreign - and far more welcome than she'd anticipated. 

“More,” she instructed under her breath. “More, more…” She snapped her hips in time with his, driving him deeper inside of her. “Come on.” 

When it was over several minutes later, the guy collapsed onto Zoey’s chest. She stared up at the ceiling and listened to her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

 

* * *

 

Alvey woke up on the couch to the sound of his phone alarm. Mere moments after he downed three drinks and got dressed, he headed to his car. But before he could even climb behind the wheel, he found himself vomiting into the flower bed. 

Good fucking morning.

 

* * *

 

“Morning!” Will chirped. “Breakfast is served.” 

Nate couldn’t help but crack a small smile as Will strode in with a bowl which he passed to Nate and announced, “Steel-cut, no sugar, bland as fuck.”

“Yeah,” Nate said softly. He pressed his chilly hands against the warm rim.

“I refilled your water, too,” Will noted, tossing the bottle into Nate’s bag as he took a seat next to him on the bed. 

“Thank you.” Nate leaned in for a kiss, which Will smiled into.

“You're welcome.” He looked at Nate for a moment, a slightly lovesick expression on his face. Nate blushed and turned away. 

“I’m heading into the office,” Will told him quickly, and he stood up before he could change his mind. “Then I've got a client dinner - unless you want me at the fight?” he asked hopefully.

Nate opened his mouth to speak but paused before any words could emerge, a regretful look on his face.

“Yeah. Thought so.” There was no anger behind it, though. All this time, and Will still understood. Nate thanked God for him more than he'd ever admit. “Oh, um, I nearly forgot; here.” Will reached into his pocket and held out a small object. 

Nate stared down at it. “What’s this?”

“It’s… a key.” At Nate’s closed expression, Will teased, “It unlocks doors.”

Realization hit Nate. His breath caught in his chest. Will was acting like this was nothing, but a key was a _huge_ deal. At least, it was to Nate.

“Relax,” Will murmured, that familiar, comfortable, confident smile on his lips. “It’s just easier for nights that you want to be here.”

Nate nodded slowly. As always, Will knew exactly what to say to him. “O… okay,” Nate whispered. “Got it.”

“Text me when it's over, yeah?” Will asked from the doorway.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and Nate?”

He looked over.

Will grinned. “Knock the fucker out.”

“I'll try.”

The door swung shut behind Will, and Nate sat down on Will's bed, taking another look at the key. It wouldn’t be noticeable on his key ring, but what if Alvey asked about it? He shook his head at himself. He was always so fucking paranoid. No one would even notice. It’s not like anyone counted anyone else’s keys, especially someone as obtuse as Alvey. 

Nate put it down on the comforter and took another bite of his oatmeal.

 

* * *

 

“Feel good?” Alvey asked Ryan after their workout. He slung his arm around his fighter as they walked toward the edge of the cage. 

“Yeah,” Ryan panted. His fight was that night, and he was stressed as hell, but Lisa had gotten through to him the night before. Had the money not been riding on the outcome of this fight, Ryan would be sure he had it in the bag. It was the pressure that was making him second-guess himself.

“You nervous? Hey, don't worry about the fucking contract, alright? Don't chase the money.  That's Lisa's fucking job. You're a fucking savage.” He turned toward Ryan. “You’re a fucking-”

“Jesus Christ, Alvey,” Ryan gasped, shoving away from him with his nose wrinkled.

“What ‘Jesus Christ,’ man?  Come on."

"You fucking stink, man. You stink like shit.”

“What do you mean, I stink?” Alvey asked defensively, almost thinking Ryan was kidding.

Ryan pointed at his own mouth. “You fucking stink,” he repeated. “It’s nine o’clock in the fucking morning, old man. Your breath…”

Alvey laughed carelessly as Ryan ducked out of the cage. “Good work!” he called to Ryan’s retreating back. “Always moving, always moving!”

“Yep.”

As soon as Alvey was alone, he turned and let the smile drop. 

 

* * *

 

“Is it hard for you to go to these?”

“The fight?” Jay asked as he buttoned his shirt in front of the sink.

“Yeah,” Amy replied. She stood behind him in the doorway, softly watching his reflection.

“No.”

“Not hard to watch?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You don't miss it?”

He switched to his tie. “I’d rather dip my dick in honey… and thrust it into an anthill.”

Amy smiled.

Jay cleared his throat and softly sniffled. He glanced at Amy in the mirror, turned to look at her behind him, and then found her reflection in the mirror again. He whispered, “Are you staring at me?”

“No, I'm not staring. I'm just looking.”

“It's understandable; there’s a lot of nice things to look at that you probably like. What do you think it is - and really take your time - that you like most about me? Hmm?”

“That you're too sensitive for this world,” Amy replied easily.

Jay stilled for a moment but recovered and said, “I am gonna go say good evening to our girl.”

“She's asleep,” Amy told him, shaking her head.

Jay nodded and pulled his suit jacket over his shoulders. “I’ll be home early.”

“No rush.” 

They shared a kiss.

“Okay.”

“Tell Nate good luck.”

 

* * *

 

“He was fine at the weigh-in,” Garo protested angrily into his phone. He snorted. “Yeah, I bet. I bet. He wouldn’t… T-This is so unprofessional, man. It's very, very unprofessional. I promise you this; he'll never fight for me again. Never. Yeah. Fuck you, okay? Yeah. I’ve got to make some calls. Fuck you.”

He hung up the phone. “Fuck! Motherfucker! Fuck me!”

* * *

 

 

“I am here with Jay Kulina,” Kenny Florian announced as he smiled into the camera. “Jay, first of all, congratulations on your baby girl.”

“Thanks so much, Kenny. I appreciate that.”

“So, I - I've got to ask you; is Jay Kulina changing diapers now? Because I find that kind of hard to imagine.”

“I do it all,” Jay drawled. “I'm a full-service dad. I got bottles and diapers, I'm singing and slinging lullabies in multiple octaves...”

“You want to sing one right now?” Kenny teased.

“No, sir, I do not.”

Kenny laughed. “Fair enough. Your dad's here, and your brother... And your little sister, Zoey - will we be seeing her here tonight?” 

“No… no, you will not.”

“Oh, really? I thought I’d been hearing for years that you and Zoey were Nate’s biggest supporters, and I definitely witnessed that many times myself, but I haven’t seen her at a fight in… well, at least a year and a half.”

“She’s,” Jay improvised slowly, trying to think on his toes, “taking some time off.”

“Oh yeah? What’s she up to?”

“She’s exploring herself. Yeah. She’s, uh. She’s got a whole lot of projects going on, little things, and, uh. She’s around.” 

Kenny nodded curiously. “Is she still living in LA then?”

Jay gave him a look; these questions had nothing to do with anything the fight fans would be interested in. “Yeah, she is,” he lied. 

“Alright. Switching gears,” Kenny said, and Jay felt himself physically relax.

“You haven't fought in over a year, your last fight being a loss against Ryan Wheeler. You guys are one and one. Uh, I know the fans would love to see a third fight.”

“Well, Ryan's having a phenomenal year, as I think this whole audience can tell you. And I'm excited to be here supporting him and my brother, Nate Kulina, out of Navy Street Gym.”

“But don't you feel like there's unfinished business here?”

“I’m… I don't know. You know, I think life life uh, life gets bigger. Life moves on.”

“Why not a rematch? What's the hold-up?” 

“There's no hold-up. I honestly just-”

“So, nobody's talking? There's no plans whatsoever for a rubbermatch?”

“I'm focused on being a father right now, um, to be honest, and, uh, I'm - I'm loving every minute of it.”

“Alright. Rightfully so. But setting a Wheeler fight aside, are we ever gonna see Jay Kulina in the cage again?”

Jay tried not to sigh. “I don't know. I, um. I'm excited about what I'm doing right now and being a father, um, and I don't see that situation changing at anytime soon.”

“Jay, thank you. I appreciate your time.”

The pair shook hands.

“Always great to see you.” 

Jay nodded, and he strode away, eager to shake the awkwardness off.

“And, uh, there you have it, folks,” he heard Kenny saying into the microphone, “a domesticated Jay Kulina playing it very close to the vest.”

He let himself roll his eyes as he headed back to the holding rooms where Nate and Ryan would be warming up with Lisa and Alvey hovering over them. On his way there, though, he froze in his tracks.

Far across the room, his eyes made out a girl leaning on the bar with curls so dark they were nearly black. She was skinny, wearing low-rise jeans and a cheap t-shirt, but Jay would be damned if he wouldn’t know that body language fucking anywhere. 

“Zoey?” he called, but his voice didn’t carry at all in the loud room. “Fuck,” he muttered. “What the hell are you doing here?” He raised his voice to a yell again. “Zoey!” 

She didn’t turn around.

He jogged up the steps, but as he got closer, a large crowd blocked his view. By the time he got up there, the girl - Zoey? - was gone. 

 

* * *

 

Lisa was texting when Garo walked into the holding room. 

“Hey," he muttered.

“I'm not talking to you until after the fight,” she responded tonelessly, not even looking up from her phone. 

“It's about Nate. We've got a problem.”

Lisa’s eyes swiveled to the man beside her.

“Dixon pulled out of the fight.”

Lisa's mouth dropped open. “Garo, what the fuck?”

“I know.”

“No, Garo, what the _fuck?!_ It's two hours before the fight!”

“What's two hours?” Alvey asked loudly.

“Go ahead, Garo,” Lisa spat, stepping back.

“What's two hours?” Alvey repeated.

“Tell Alvey and Nate.”

Garo sighed. “Dixon pulled out of the fight.”

“What?” Alvey demanded.

“What happened?” Nate asked, his anger clear on his face.

“His manager said that he's sick,” Garo replied.

“That's bullshit. What happened?” Nate pushed.

“Look, I’ve - I’m - I've got a lot of calls out. We're gonna find a good replacement for you. Listen to me, Nate-”

“I want to fight,” he agreed.

“No. No.” Alvey shook his head. “You're not fighting. You're not taking a fight on two hours noti-”

“I don't care. I want to fight,” Nate urged, his tone sharpening quickly. “I want to fucking fight!”

“You're not fucking doing it. You're not fighting.”

Nate looked helplessly at Lisa, who regretfully shook her head. He scoffed and turned away.

“You’re not fighting. Just - get your shit together and let us deal with this.” As Nate walked away, Alvey pointed at Garo. “You suck at your job.”

“And you're fucking paying him his purse,” Lisa reminded.

“I'm gonna pay him the show money-”

“Oh, no, you're fucking paying him!” Lisa cried as Alvey yelled, “No, no, you're fucking paying him!” 

Garo threw his hands up and left.

“You’re full of shit!” Alvey called after him. He sighed heavily and then moved onto the next thing. “Alright. Come on. Warm him up.” 

Ryan smacked Nate on the arm and then the head, ruffling his short hair. Nate slapped him back on the chest.

“Shit happens. Shit happens.” Alvey dropped his voice as he took Nate aside again. “Don't be disappointed. Look, you cannot take a fight with two hours' notice, okay?”

“This fucker's done it _twice_ ,” Nate pleaded, his eyes betraying his pain. 

“I know,” Alvey soothed. “What are you - what are you gonna do, right? You're gonna get paid. We're gonna find you a fight. I promise.” He rubbed Nate’s shoulder. “Go get something to eat.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Lisa apologized quietly.

“Yeah,” Nate agreed, shouldering his bag. “Later.”

 

* * *

 

When the announcement came over the PA to scratch Nate’s fight, Zoey really almost left right then. She stood up from her chair and started heading toward the exit without even thinking. But the desire to see Ryan, to see her father, and to see Lisa stopped her. It would only be from a distance of course; they didn’t deserve to have to interact with her, and she didn’t want to have to explain how she got out of the hospital without telling anyone and where she was living and all that. 

She caught sight of Jay from a distance walking through the venue. He looked a little shaken, and Zoey couldn’t help but wonder whether he was high, but she hoped - for the first time in a long time - that he wasn’t. He had Maya now. She didn’t want Jay to be like Alvey and Christina, still using when they had kids. That would make him a loser, and Jay was supposed to be the hero. Yeah, things had changed, but Zoey knew that a part of her would always think of him as the brave, strong one who, at the last second, managed to save the day. 

She settled back in her seat at the edge of the balcony and sighed. It was going to be at least an hour before Ryan fought. Waiting was going to be a bitch.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she about jumped out of her skin as someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Holy sh-” she hissed, spilling her drink on the carpet. Her eyes snapped up, and she was taken aback.  “M- Mom?”

 

* * *

 

“Lord, please clear my head of all distractions and my heart of all burdens I may bear so I may perform my very best, knowing you'll always be there,” Ryan murmured. He had Joe Daddy, Jay, Alvey, and Juan beside him in a huddle, Juan with Ryan’s belt slung over his shoulder. 

“With great courage, Lord, I will meet this challenge as you would have me to. Keep me humble, Lord, and remind me that my strength comes from knowing you.”

“Jesus,” Alvey moaned. “Come on. Finish. Finish. Wrap it up. Come on.”

Ryan went on, seeming not to hear his coach. “And when all eyes are upon me, then I will turn their eyes to you for the glory of your name.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alvey hissed.

“Amen,” Ryan declared.

“Amen, the huddle chorused.

“Amen,” Alvey nodded distractedly. “Amen. Let’s go.”

“Wake me up! Wake me up!” Ryan shouted. 

Alvey smacked him twice in the face, but it wasn’t enough.

“Wake me up! Come on!”

“Your fight, motherfucker!” Alvey screamed.

“Wake me up! Wake me up! Aah!”

He grabbed Ryan’s face. “Your fucking fight! Get your money, motherfucker. Get your money.”

“AAAAHHH!”

“Get your money!Go get your money!”

“Ryaaaaaan Wheeler!” the announcer shouted, and Zoey watched the Destroyer as he burst out of the curtains, eyes blazing. He looked exactly the same as she remembered, with that same worn, gray hoodie tugged over his head and Alvey and Jay trailing behind him. 

Her father looked older, tired, his skin paler and stretched. His hair was longer than he’d kept it before, swiped back in that same style that only he wore. Something in her longed to call out to him; things between them had been better before it all went to shit. She wouldn’t have even if she could have, though. It wasn’t the time or place, not to mention there was no chance in hell that he'd hear her over all this fucking noise.

“Come on, Wheeler!” a man a few feet away from Zoey was cheering, but she, for once, said nothing.

A part of her wished, while Ryan was beside the cage getting his mouthguard and shedding his clothes, that she was down there with him like she had been so many times before. Nate and Jay would stand on her left and right, all of them eagerly waiting to tell him to kill his opponent. Instead, she was stuck up there alone. Well - with Christina. That had been... interesting.

Once all the required vaseline had been smeared on Ryan’s face, Jay retreated to his seat, and that was when Zoey first caught sight of Lisa. Her hair was bleached blonder than usual, and she had on a shade of lipstick so bright that Zoey could see it even in the shadows. Neither of Lisa nor Jay smiled or looked excited in the slightest. Zoey wondered what had gone on behind the scenes that she didn’t know about. There always seemed to be so much drama…

“Alright, gentlemen,” Beltran nodded, stealing Zoey’s attention away from her family. “We've been over the rules already. Protect yourself at all times. Obey my commands at all times. Touch gloves now if you want.”

Ryan held his hands out, but the guy didn’t make a move. Ryan raised his eyebrows but didn’t remark otherwise. 

“Very well,” Mike continued. “At the sound of the bell, come on out and handle your business. Let’s go.”

The bell rang, and immediately, Ryan let loose. He had the guy up against the cage in a matter of seconds, and Zoey had the strange flash of a realization that it felt like she’d never left. It was as if she hadn’t skipped a single week of MMA. She took a long sip of her new drink.

Pretty soon, Alvey was shouting. “Go! Go! Stay on him! Stay on him! Stay on him!” 

Ryan hit the guy hard, and had Zoey been her normal self, it would have drawn her straight to her feet. Instead, she lazily crossed one of her legs over the other and swirled her alcohol around. 

The guy got up, and Zoey let her eyes wander down to her family again. It was bizarre watching Ryan fight without Jay sitting cageside next to Alvey. Zoey wondered what Maya looked like now. She’d only met the baby once, and she used to feel a little guilty for missing so much of Maya’s early life. But she quickly came to realize that it was better this way. Zoey didn’t intend to be around for very long, so it was better that there wasn’t anything for Maya to miss.

“Oh!” came a collective cry from the audience.

Ryan was on the ground, his head pressed hard to the canvas. Zoey only felt a twinge of displeasure at the fact that Ryan was in pain. He was up in a few moments anyway. Everything died. This too shall pass, right? She ran one of her nails lightly over her father’s letters tattooed on her skin. 

“Anderson, get over here,” Beltran ordered, shoving Ryan’s opponent to the left when he didn’t go on his own. “Neutral corner. Over here. Stay right there, right there. Neutral corner!” 

“Alright. You're alright, man! Get up! Walk it off! Shake it off!” Alvey called.

“Hey, pick him up, will you?” Mike said to the medic. “Pick him up.”

“Walk it off,” Alvey repeated.

“Stand up! Let's go!” Jay called from the crowd.

“Over here,” Mike said, helping Ryan to the fence. “Here. You got time, okay? You got up to five minutes.”

“No, I'm I'm good,” Ryan panted.

“You sure?”

“I'm ready to fuck him up.”

Beltran nodded. “Sounds good to me. Alright.”

“That's it, Ryan!” somebody called from the balcony.

“Go to work!” Lisa added.

“You ready to fight? You ready to fight? Fight!”

The bell dinged again.

“Come on, Wheeler!” Jay encouraged. “Come on, Ryan! Let's go! Hands up!”

Alvey directed, “Keep moving! Circle left! Come on, Wheeler! Get him! Come on! Come on, Wheeler!”

Zoey had been trying to watch Alvey and Lisa and Jay, but the bullshit that was going down in the cage was holding her attention better than seeing her family for the first time in months. The asshole that Ryan was fighting was playing dirty and truly enjoying the pain he was causing. He wasn’t treating this like a sport at all. A few moments later, Ryan had taken another impossibly hard hit and was back on the canvas.

“You alright? Ryan. Ryan!” Alvey called worriedly into the cage.

Ryan didn’t move.

 

 

* * *

“First of all, all praise to Jesus,” Ryan gushed a few minutes later, a belt secured around his waist. “Without him, none of this is possible.”

“Amen!” someone called from the audience.

Zoey's gaze drifted to the crowd, distracting her from the next question.

“Um, yeah, man. Crazy, right? I - I guess, uh, I guess when a man fears for his life, you know, he'll do just about anything to survive. Uh, it was a stunning, violent finish.”

“What was the difference in the second round?” Kenny asked him, and then he held the microphone out for his answer.

“Well, uh, once he finished kicking me in the balls and, uh, kneeing me while I was down, I guess he ran out of stuff to do. And then I just threw him on the ground and gave him a gentleman's beating.”

“It's your last fight on your contract. What's next?”

“Million-dollar question,” Ryan mused, a bit of salt dripping into his tone. “Where’s -where’s Garo? Like I said, he's the guy that -“ Ryan let out a laugh as he spotted the promoter close by. “Oh, shit. He's right there. Yeah, well, you know, Lisa and I we're gonna look at our options. I'm gonna - I'm gonna get with her and and see what's out there. Like any professional fighter, I want to be paid market value, so we're gonna be testing the limits of that. But listen. No, no - no disrespect. I’ve enjoyed my time here. Thank you guys so much. It's been a privilege and an honor to fight in front of you. Thank you, Alvey, Lisa, Joe, Navy Street, everybody. And, uh, thank you guys for watching. Thank you.”

As the team started posing for pictures, Christina turned to Zoey. “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” Zoey muttered. She left her empty glass on her vacant chair and followed after her mother. This would be interesting.

 

* * *

 

“As if they couldn't have found you another fight at the last minute,” Will said sympathetically, shaking his head as he stared at Nate’s back. “Have they at least promised you another fight soon?”

Nate scoffed. “No.”

“You getting paid?”

Nate took a long moment before he answered. “I don't know.”

“What does your contract say? There must be some language in there that-”

“I don't care about the fucking money,” Nate snapped, an uncharacteristic hostility exploding out in his voice. He sighed heavily, dropping his shoulders. “Lisa will figure it out. It’s fine.”

“I'm on your side, Nate,” Will reminded softly. “I'm not trying to get in your business.”

Nate nodded.

“You want another beer?” Will offered. His phone buzzed on the counter, but he ignored it, turning and opening the refrigerator door. As he did so, Nate shouldered his bag.

“Actually, I'm gonna go.”

“O…kay?”

Nate sighed again, tiredly this time. He crossed the room to gently wrap his hand around Will’s forearm. “I’m sorry. We're fine, okay?”

Will glanced at the spot Nate was holding onto him. It was so rare that Nate voluntarily made physical contact, and now it was only because-

“I trained three months for a fight,” Nate murmured. “I don't want to have one with you.”

How did Nate always know just how to tug on Will’s heartstrings?  “Understood,” Will whispered.

“Thank you,” Nate whispered back. He squeezed Will’s arm and walked sadly to the door. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

“Yep.”

The door clicked shut behind Nate, and Will glanced at his phone, which had gone black. He picked it up, and the screen lit up.  _Zee_. Shit. It was a hell of a good thing Nate wasn’t standing closer, then.

_wont need the apartment anymore,_ was all it said.

_Are you going home?_  Will responded. Nate would be so happy to see her, and god knew that man could benefit from a smile or two. He hoped she was.

Barely ten seconds later, his phone lit up again.

 

**Z** :  _no_

 

_Alright,_  Will replied, wishing he could ask her more but knowing better than to pry. Zoey had always been a closed book more often than not, and that was before she turned into a block of ice.  _I’ll take care of it._

_thx_ , she sent back. Then, _1 more thing_

 

**W** :  _What?_

**Z** :  _need u 2 drop something off at gym_

**W** :  _Oh, I don’t know about that…_

**Z** :  _get someone else 2 do it then. need this gone asap_

**W** : _I’m completely booked tomorrow._

 

That last one was a lie, but there was no way he could go to the gym with Nate around.

 

**Z** : _ill pay u_

 

Will rolled his eyes. Always with the “I’ll pay you,” as though money were important to Will. Not anymore. He had too much. And what was with the weird texting style? She’d always been more eloquent than not.

 

**W** :  _Don’t worry about payment. I can you tomorrow afternoon to pick it up._

**Z** :  _bob is getting me ill just bring it then  
_ **Z** :  _need ur handwriting tho my family will know mine_

**W** :  _Handwriting? What is it?_

**Z** :  _clothes. not mine. need them labeled so they get back 2 owner_

**W** :  _Alright. We’ll talk when I see you._

 

After that, there was no reply. Will finished his drink and then cracked open the beer he’d retrieved for Nate.

 

* * *

 

“What are you up to now?” Alvey asked as he headed outside. He could see Lisa standing by her giant SUV blowing smoke up at the sky. He had a brief flicker of a thought that the stars were never visible in LA, but Lisa’s voice distracted him.

“Smoke this and go home.”

"That's a plan,” he replied sarcastically.

She scoffed.

“Listen, we should talk about Nate tomorrow.” He reached for her cigarette.

“Garo’s gonna pay him,” she responded, handing it to him and watching while he took a drag.

He exhaled “Well… that’s the least he could fucking do.” He groaned and admitted, “He offered me a fight. All this money that he's getting, he wants to do a legends fight. It's fucking dumb, huh?”

“Are you gonna do it?”

He shrugged. “I'm thinking about it.” He tried to gauge her reaction, but he’d never been able to read her poker face. “What are you thinking?”

“I think it's up to you,” she replied easily.

“You don't have an opinion?”

“Mm, no. I'm not a fighter. My brain's not fucked up that way.”

He nodded absently and then noted, “If I do it, if I train, we got to hire somebody else to pick up the slack. I'll train Nate and Ryan, but can we afford that?”

“I'll get into it tomorrow. But do you really want to fight?”

“Yeah, I think so... One more time.”

“You better be good.”

Alvey chuckled. “I want you to handle it with Garo, yeah?”

“I'm on it.”

“Alright.” He started towards his car but turned back. “Don't smoke that whole thing.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she replied sarcastically.

“I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

* * *

 

“This will be your room,” Christina declared, opening a door at the back of the one-story house. The room was nestled in a back corner, which was good for popping out the window and sneaking out unseen.

Zoey picked the bed furthest from the door and dropped her bag onto it. “Um, thanks.”

“No problem, sweetie. There’s a new girl coming in the morning, and you’ll have to share with her.”

“I don’t care,” Zoey replied honestly. She smacked her gum twice between her molars.

“Alright.” Christina caressed Zoey’s cheek, and Zoey stood still and let her. A year ago, she would have pulled away. But now… things were different. Not that she wanted or needed a mother. It was just that the pain of everything Christina had done to her was gone. Zoey was hollow.

“Is there shit I can use in the shower? Like, soap and shampoo and all that?”

“Yes. You can use whatever you want. Um, and if you want anything - food or anything - just put it on the list in the kitchen, and I’ll get it. I go to the store on Mondays.”

Zoey nodded.

Christina started for the door and then turned back. “Oh - one more thing. I know that a lot of girls - when they come to places like this, they want to use a different name. Do you want me to tell them to call you Zee, or something else?”

“Do you go by your real name here?” Zoey asked shortly.

“I do, yes.”

Zoey raised an eyebrow. “They call you Christina?”

Christina nodded.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

Zoey shrugged one shoulder and turned to start unpacking. “Cause when I do my whore stuff, I use ‘Christina,’ too.”

Christina faltered, pain flooding her eyes in the form of tears. “Oh,” she whispered again.

“Just tell them I’m named after you,” Zoey shrugged. “I don’t want to change it. And if you don’t want to tell them you’re my mom, then just tell them it’s a weird fucking coincidence.”

“We can’t have two Christinas in the same house that look the same,” Christina protested.

Zoey turned, a bored smile on her face. “Yeah, we do look the same, don’t we? Dad always used to fucking tell me that when he got hammered. ‘You look just like your mother.’” She shook her head, almost amused.

At the pained look on Christina’s face, she sighed, suddenly annoyed. Why should she get to care now? “Just fucking tell them. If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Okay,” Christina murmured. “Good night, sweetie.”

“Night.”

Christina closed the door quietly behind herself, and Zoey smiled, putting a hand up to her forehead. Fuck. This was gonna be the craziest thing she’d ever done.

 

* * *

 

The door hinges creaked as Jay crept into the dark back bedroom. “Sorry,” he winced.

“Hey,” Amy whispered. She was lying in bed with Maya sound asleep on her chest. “Nate came home early.”

“His fight fell apart,” Jay explained, a frown on his lips. He shed his button-down and slipped it onto a hanger.

“Shit. That sucks.”

“I… I think I saw my sister,” Jay told her, sitting down on the bed and looking over at Maya.

“What?” Amy asked, suddenly more alert. “Zoey?”

Jay nodded.

“At the fight?”

He nodded again.

She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn't, she asked, "What, that's it?"

He nodded. "That's it.  Hey.” He motioned toward Maya. “Can I hold her?”

“We can't fall asleep with her,” Amy responded immediately.

“I won’t,” Jay promised.

He laid down in the bed beside Amy, who passed the baby to him and immediately molded herself to his shoulder. Maya’s little eyes remained closed, and Jay wrapped his fingers around her tiny fist. He exhaled deeply and pressed a kiss to her head. “I think we should baptize her,” he whispered.

Amy didn’t bother to mask her surprise. “Why?”

“Just in case,” Jay murmured. A hundred thoughts flew through his mind, snapshots of Maya, of Nate, of Zoey, of Ryan, of Lisa, of Christina, of Alvey, of Amy, of guns, of drugs, of pawn shops and razor blades and back alley drives. Unable to help himself, he repeated, “Just in case.”


End file.
